We could lie about everything,
we could deny it all,
but the swell of his arms,
the richness of his dark hair swallowing my hands,
the fierceness of his stare,
the power of his presence,
the pull of his voice,
that distinguished accent when he says;
"habibi, 'ant jamilat fi allayl walnahar eindama yaqbal alqamar walshams bisharatik walakinn kulu ma tastahiquh lan yuqaran bialkalimat , 'ana dhahabuk wa'almask , 'akhbirni bima tatamanaah"
that has me on my knees,
Do with me as you please sire,

He is brown,he is white,
maybe black, maybe light,...